


softer than flower petals, more soothing than honey

by am doing a breakthrough science (acceptnosubstitutes)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fireflies, M/M, Rooftop Garden, Soft and fluff, Star Gazing, do not perceive me, nonbinary halmarut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acceptnosubstitutes/pseuds/am%20doing%20a%20breakthrough%20science
Summary: These things Emet-Selch shares with Hythlodaeus without a moment's thought. Until he did give pause.They linger.
Relationships: Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	softer than flower petals, more soothing than honey

**Author's Note:**

> There's a post on tumblr that goes like this: "your voice is softer than flower petals and more soothing than honey" and it inspired this mush coming up into v-day because reasons.
> 
> Bookclub link at hand for helpful enablers: https://discord.gg/ME4eAEt

That midnight sky, lit up by countless bright, twinkling stars, lends the rooftop garden a different sort of air tonight. A familiar destination for this pair of friends. Spent many afternoons here - naps, quiet conversation, constructive discussion mapping out city upgrades. But this night in particular Emet-Selch has a different sort of reason for inviting Hythlodaeus up to the roof of his penthouse apartment.

He pauses in the doorway leading upstairs, watching Hythlodaeus go on ahead. Kneel by the flowerbeds and cradle one silky, purple flower in careful hands. Those flowers new arrivals, courtesy of their eminence Halmarut, master of botany. Who had all but pushed the plants into their colleague's arms, a wink and subtle allusions a certain someone seemed rather fond of the blooms.

Emet-Selch remembers coloring then, protests on his lips that fail him now, seeing Hythlodaeus lean in and breathe in the flower's sweet scent. Small mage lamps bob gently at ankle level all along the pathways throughout the garden, including the flowerbeds, lighting Hythlodaeus in gentle, backlit glow.

Masks removed, hoods down in this privacy, so when he turns his head, Emet-Selch has no defense against his brilliant smile. It softens Hythlodaeus' entire face. Highlights the brightness of his eyes. How they crinkle up at the edges and that's how Emet-Selch knows he's truly happy, gently pleased with his surroundings.

As though he needed physical cues when he clearly sees the intangible ones. The many shining hues of his soul, buzzing faintly brighter the longer Emet-Selch drinks in that smile. Chief among them verdant, as green as the tall fronds reaching for the sky growing in the corner of the enclosed roof. Luminous gold outshining the very stars themselves, if Emet-Selch is allowed a moment of private blasphemy. How he never tires peering at that particular soul.

Finally Emet-Selch leaves the safety of the apartment completely, door shutting behind him. Meets Hythlodaeus in the small walkway leading up to the nook they usually take their rest. Offering his hand like a proper gentleman, Emet-Selch draws him into his arms. Sways in place, entwining their hands together. Despite being progenitor of the embrace, Hythlodaeus remains ever taller than him. Emet-Selch takes full advantage, tucking his head under his chin and turning into his body as they move back and forth.

"Dancing, dear?" Hythlodaeus sounds amused. "There's hardly any music."

Emet-Selch slips an arm around his waist, chuckling into his collarbone. Notes the light, shuddering intake of breath but politely refrains from commentary, raising fingers in a crisp snap. 

The air comes alive with sound. Strings, piano, harp. Disembodied instruments softly plucking out harmonizing notes drifting by on easy breeze. Another snap and a number of blinking lights appear accenting the music. Tiny creatures followed by Hythlodaeus' gaze, flickering off and on at dim intervals.

"Fireflies," he says, voice as soft as the music, "you remembered."

Emet-Selch pulls back, still maintaining his arm around his waist, but wants to look him in the eyes. "How could I forget?"

Their gift, the uncommonly strong strain of true sight, seers of souls. Present in the both of them, what first drew them close as friends. Among a rooftop garden, ironically quite like this one, the first time Hythlodaeus showed him these tiny sprites. Creations, modeled off the multitude of spirits a young Hythlodaeus observed drifting all around him that no one else could see. No one else but his equally odd, strange new friend.

Hythlodaeus gave them shape, form, a purpose. And unto that purpose Emet-Selch breathed the life that shines in their flickering, fading light today. Faint, but lingering. 

Much like this thing developed between them. Beyond the bonds of friendship now, as close as they are, as entwined, near as breathing sometimes. Finishing sentences. An emptiness only soothed in the touch of the other. Memorizing the sound of each other's voices down to the littlest, seemingly most unimportant note. Inane discussions about everything and anything, carried on into the early morning hours. 

These things Emet-Selch shares with Hythlodaeus without a moment's thought. Until he did give pause. 

They linger.

Emet-Selch leans back, pressing his cheek into his warmth. "Better, now? Or shall I perform some other task of peerless splendor to suit your whims?"

"Ah, there's my Hades," rumbled amusement vibrates pleasantly against Emet-Selch's skin, "such romantic gestures did give rise the fear you had been replaced by an imposter."

He changes hands before Emet-Selch can respond, drawing them up into a proper waltz. Taking up the lead. Of which Emet-Selch follows the steps, would follow Hythlodaeus anywhere with that smile and that smoldering gaze promising _something_. If only he has the courage, the wherewithal between steps, being spun around, lowered into a dip to take the plunge.

Or the upward push, as it were. Such a cheesy nonsense line, time stilling while gazing into the eyes of the darling of his affection. Still is, even as Emet-Selch experiences it now, leaning up and Hythlodaeus bending down. 

Another moment's pause in this frozen pocket of existence outside time before they meet. A barest greeting of mouths asking permission to press on, meld breath, touch and tease exploration drug along sensitive lips. Leaves Emet-Selch light-headed, dizzy, weak in the knees. Arms thrown around Hythlodaeus' neck for the support, returned in the grip tightening around Emet-Selch's waist holding him securely half off his feet. 

Sharing in an intimacy that seems to span an eon. Or more.

Reluctant, slowly, Emet-Selch pulls back first. Allowed freely returned to his own standing, brushing nonexistent dust off his robes. He swallows thickly, voice a hint hoarse. 

"Come. Indulge my romantic tendencies, as you so mock," he says, own smile curving as he does the same, "I would show you yet further."

He takes Hythlodaeus' hand again, up the path toward the sheltered nook. Hood already lowered back and a comfortable, plush bed sized for two sets up the scene for star gazing. It's enough to settle in, curled up together, watching the slow moving heavens and feel out their place amongst the immenseness of the cosmos. 

Then Emet-Selch leans up on one elbow, reaching out until he locates the section of stars for which he searches. That most familiar of constellations assigned to the office of his title. Gemini. The twins.

Aware of a gaze upon him, he traces one half of the set a vivid violet, befitting the main hue of his own soul. Crosses into its other half a different color, the green he sees every time he truly perceives the man pressed so close.

Emet-Selch turns on his side, drawing Hythlodaeus' face between his hands. Stroking the sides of his cheeks.

"I would spend the endless trek of time by your side, this way," he says, thumb slipping down, brushing across and dragging slowly along bottom lip, "until the very stars aligned under my title come to stand not only for the station. But for us."

Hythlodaeus remains quiet for a time, examining Emet-Selch so intently he's reminded, perhaps a touch uncomfortably, the heightened sharpness of Hythlodaeus' sight compared to his own. What he sees? What will he make of it? Only the silent heavens can judge.

Then his expression breaks, softening again. He shifts on his side as well, curling his fingers up in one of Emet-Selch's hands and squeezing lightly. Lifting it to press kisses to the backs of each knuckle.

"Terribly silly old fool," such deep, abiding fondness pervading his voice, "for us? I am yours. Always been."


End file.
